Nightmare
by Spnchick09
Summary: On every news station she went to, an image of a burning building appeared. Oneshot.


**Disclaimer: **I don't own 7th Heaven, nor do I own anything associated with it.

**Author's Note: **I don't think this is one of my best, but it's just an idea that's been with me for a while. Plus, I've been kind of MIA from the fan fiction site for a while, so I don't think a one-shot from me would hurt, eh? Please leave a review, even though I know this one isn't as good as some of my others. ) Also, the timeline isn't the same. You'll see what I mean. Basically, the characters are quite a bit older in the year 2001 than they would be on the show.

* * *

He watched in horror as the scene unfolded before him. There was screaming, crying, and yells in other languages. They'd busted into the cockpit, taking control of the plane. Martin swore he had heard gunshots earlier, but told himself not to dwell on it. He watched as a man emerged from the cockpit, a gun held firmly in his hands. He looked around the area, checking to make sure that no one else posed a threat to him. Martin figured he was from the Middle East, by both his accent and appearance. Martin cringed when the man's hateful voice called out.

"Quiet!" he ordered. The cabin grew silent, aside from whimpers and sobs from the passengers. "Tell your families goodbye. You will not be going home!" he yelled, a fierce look in his eyes.

Martin's breath caught in his chest, and his eyes filled with tears.

_Ruthie._

* * *

"Bye, Mom!"

Ruthie waved to her daughter Christina, or Chrissy for short, as Chrissy made her way into the school. She was a nine-year old beauty, with hair the color of her father's cascading down her back, and bright green eyes with golden flecks that caught the light marvelously.

Ruthie began her drive home, pulling into the driveway of the three-bedroom home five minutes later. She stepped out of her Pontiac Grand Prix, and walked through the front door. She glanced down at her watch, and saw that she had thirty minutes before she had to leave for work as a psychologist. Ruthie saw the silver wedding band on her ring finger and smiled, marveling at how she and Martin had gotten married almost ten years ago. She sighed as she walked into the kitchen to make herself a cup of coffee, jumping when the phone began to ring. Running a hand through her hair, she peered down at the caller I.D. and smiled to herself when Martin's cell phone number appeared.

"Are you allowed to use your phone in the air?" she asked when she answered.

A choked sob echoed on the other end of the line, and her breath stopped.

"Martin? What's the matter? Martin? Martin, answer me," she pleaded.

"Baby, I'm not coming home," he said quietly.

"What're you talking about? Are you leaving me?" she chuckled.

Martin pinched the bridge of his nose, remaining silent.

"Martin, you're scaring me."

"We've been hijacked."

* * *

Numerous people on the airline were calling their families, telling them goodbye and letting them know how much they were loved. Strangers were letting others borrow cell phones, and comforting those that had grown more distraught than others.

Martin was one of them. He'd shakily dialed the worn numbers of his cell phone, starting to cry as he called his home in Queens.

"Are you allowed to use your phone in the air?" she'd answered.

He let out a suppressed sob, her voice setting off the tears already brimming in his eyes. He was quiet, longing to be home with her.

"Martin?" she asked. "What's the matter? Martin? Martin, answer me," she said, her voice growing in urgency.

"Baby, I'm not coming home," he told her, his bottom lip quivering.

She replied with a chuckle, asking if he was leaving her. He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose as tears continued to fall.

"Martin, you're scaring me," she said quietly.

"We've been hijacked."

Ruthie had been pacing nervously in the family room of her home, rubbing the back of her neck to ward off the nausea she felt. Her steps stopped, while her mind raced to comprehend what he'd just told her.

"Uh...hijacked?" she repeated meekly, sitting on a chair behind her. "What, uh...what does that mean?" she asked.

"It means that some guys took over the plane and probably changed our path and now I don't know where the hell we're going," he rambled.

Ruthie's hands began to shake, and she struggled to hold onto the phone.

"Martin," she sobbed, a hot tears falling down her cheek.

"I know, baby. I know," he cried, the pit of his stomach becoming empty. He looked out the window, seeing some sort of skyline up ahead.

"Where are you?" she asked.

"I can't tell. It looks like there's a city up there."

"Oh my God," she gasped.

"What?"

* * *

Ruthie was sobbing quietly, praying under her breath. She grabbed for the remote, wanting to see if anyone knew of the hijacking that had taken place. On every news station she went to, an image of a burning building appeared.

"Oh my God."

"What?" he asked her.

"The World Trade Center is on fire."

"Are you serious?"

"Yeah, they're talking about it. Just a second," she said, increasing the volume.

"What're they saying?" he asked.

"A plane hit the North Tower. Martin, what skyline do you see?" she asked.

He gulped. "New York."

Many on the plane had seen the skyline up ahead by now, and noticed thick, black smoke rising from one of the buildings. Martin saw it as well, and he felt like he was going to be sick.

"Do you think, um..." she stammered. Her throat closed up, causing her words to end.

"Oh God," he sobbed, his breathing patterns becoming frantic. "Ruth, we're heading towards the other one."

* * *

"No!" she cried, her body shaking.

"Ruthie, I love you. Tell Chrissy I love her, okay?"

"Martin," she sobbed, tears flowing from her eyes. "I love you," she said, unable to put into words just how much she needed him.  
"I love you, too, Ruth," he said quietly, setting his phone in the seat beside him.

Martin watched as the building grew closer, and shut his eyes as the plane took an angle and crashed into the building. In the miniscule amount of time before the plane blew up, he had two people on his mind; the two women in his life that were everything he'd ever wanted. And now he had to leave them.

He heard a scream.

And then his world went black.

* * *

Ruthie had watched the plane crash into the building, her wails growing when an explosion ruptured through the building and a fireball extended into the air. She dashed to the bathroom, spilling her breakfast into the toilet. She sobbed loudly, her body shaking, as she gasped for air. She almost felt suffocated, as though she had something pressing down on her.

How would she tell Chrissy? How would she ever be able to tell her daughter that her father would never come home?

She heard the phone ringing and remained on the floor. She put her back up against the wall behind her, pulled her knees up to her chest, and held her head in her hands.

Ruthie Camden-Brewer had been widowed in a matter of seconds, her husband losing his life unfairly and without a bit of warning. While she was a psychologist trained to deal with these types of situations, it was a completely different ballgame when the situation involved yourself.

As she held her head in her hands, she continued to sob, praying and begging to wake up from this horrible dream. Nightmare seemed to fit.

"Get me out of here," she begged, praying to God for some relief. "Please!" she cried, her sobs taking the air from her lungs.

"Wake me up from this nightmare."


End file.
